


Like Blood Through Snow

by gohoubi



Series: The Stories of Daenerys and Sansa [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Both of them need a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fever Dreams, Heavy Angst, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Pillow Talk, Pining, Reminiscing, Sansa is Lady of Winterfell, Sansa takes care of Daenerys, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gohoubi/pseuds/gohoubi
Summary: Daenerys arrives back at Winterfell seriously injured after battle with the Night King. Sansa takes care of her. Their relationship develops.





	1. An Unexpected Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I recently found out about how 'series' work.....so this is the second work in a series based on a list of prompts i found on tumblr. Once i figure out a name for the series i'll add it. The prompt was 'patching a wound'. Have fun with it!
> 
> Also, this fic takes place about two months after Like Ink Through Water.

Of all the things Sansa could have done after the war, looking after the Mother of Dragons was not one of them. She supposed it was to be expected, after their late-night conversations two months ago, but it was still…strange.

A raven had come from the Wall; Castle Black, Sansa assumed. It was a hurried scrawl on a pulpy scrap of paper, stuffed in a leather thong on the bird’s leg.

_We’ve won. The Night King is defeated. Coming back to Winterfell as soon as possible. Yours, Jon._

Sansa felt jubilant, of course, as did the rest of the castle when she told them the news. But what was to change, now that their common enemy was gone? Where was her place in the world now? She had no time to worry about that, however, as Daenerys had arrived back soon after.

Sansa remembered the day that Daenerys left Winterfell with perfect clarity, and also the day she came back. A knight had spotted the queen’s great black dragon, contrasted against the white, snowy sky, and had run for Sansa. She was outside the front gates when the dragon flopped onto the snowy ground with a thud, Daenerys barely keeping her seat on her exhausted steed.

“Daenerys?” asked Sansa, for once forgetting to call her by ‘Your Grace’. Thankfully, in the panic over their new visitor, nobody else had heard. Knights had their swords drawn, ready to subdue the dragon, but Drogon was clearly in no mood to attack anyone. 

Daenerys didn’t hear it either, for as soon as that word was out of Sansa’s mouth, she had collapsed off of the dragon and landed in the snow.

 

Sansa was still unaccustomed to being the Lady of Winterfell. Leading and commanding didn’t come naturally to her. However in that moment she found herself being authoritative. She called for a stretcher, for the dragon to be taken to the stables, for the maester to be found.

“Take the queen to the guest chambers, and bring the maester with her. I want four knights to be posted outside the doors. Nobody is to enter that room without my consent.”

Her orders given, Sansa followed the queen, trying not to run too fast. It would not look proper for the Queen in the North to sprint. She stopped off at the stables to make sure the dragon was properly looked after, then hurried along to the tower where the guest chambers were.

When she got in the room, the chamber was ominously quiet. There was a fire already going in the grate, and the shutters were closed tight against the cold. 

Daenerys had been relieved of her clothes, her robe and cape tossed in a bundle just before the grate. Sansa knelt down to look at the black dress, and realised with shock that the black colour was dried blood. She couldn’t tell if the blood was Daenerys’ or someone else’s, and she didn’t want to know.

The maester bowed to Sansa, then went on with his work. He was a small, vaguely beetle-like man named Peary, and Sansa liked him well enough. Peary was kind and wise, always there to offer counsel and tutor the members of the Stark family. 

Sansa saw then what had caused all that bloodshed. Two broken arrow shafts were lodged in Daenerys’ body: one in her shoulder and the other just below her ribcage. The skin around them was blanched white. Sansa had not imagined Daenerys could look paler than she normally looked, but she did.

“Will she be alright?” Sansa asked the maester. As soon as she said it, she realised how silly the question sounded. 

Maester Peary didn’t make light of her question, however. “It doesn’t look like the arrows have hit any vital organs. Of course, it could become evident that they have, but we’ll have to wait and see.”  
Without warning, he yanked one of the arrow shafts out, which brought with it a spurt of fresh blood. Sansa flinched. “If we keep the wound clean, it shouldn’t get infected. It didn’t go all the way through, so that’s one thing going for her.” The maester took out the second arrow. Daenerys stirred a little.

The maester washed his hands in a bucket of cold water, then removed a jar of a murky dark-green substance from a little box next to him Sansa, having no knowledge of medicine, couldn’t figure out what it was.

“It will speed healing,” Peary said in response to her quizzical look. “It will hurt going on, but the pain will go away after a while. Your queen is lucky that she is unconscious.”

He wiped away the excess blood from the wounds and applied the paste with a thin slice of wood. Peary wrapped the wounds up in bandages and pronounced his work finished.

“Will she be alright?” Sansa repeated the question from earlier.

The maester’s eyes softened for a moment. “I don’t know. The wounds are quite fresh, so infection may not have set in yet.” He started packing up his little box. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning to see to the queen again. If she makes it through this night her Grace may have a chance. I’ll leave you with some milk of the poppy. If the queen wakes up, she can have it if she so desires. Send for me if anything strange happens. Good evening to you, Lady Stark.” He bowed again, then hurried out of the room, leaving Sansa standing bewildered, with a bottle of the white opaque liquid in her hand.

She sighed. Sansa supposed she was in for a long night. She put the bottle on the nightstand and set to cleaning up the mess. The dirty rags were tossed in the fire. Daenerys’ discarded clothes gave her pause - should she keep them?

Sansa removed the silver dragon brooch from the front of the dress and studied it. Each dragon head had a little glittering eye made of a different coloured gemstone - one black, one green, one gold. She guessed it was for each of the three dragons. Sansa put it on the nightstand, and folded up the blood-encrusted robes.

Sansa checked on her friend again. Daenerys was deeply asleep, and she didn’t look as if she would wake anytime soon. 

A guard had brought up some books for Sansa to read, so she retired to an armchair next to the fire. It was a squishy relic from Riverrun; a gift from her parents’ wedding so many years ago. It was threadbare and the the wood was scratched and shiny, but it was comfortable.

Sansa curled up on the armchair and opened her book. She was in for a long night.


	2. The Comfort of Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys wakes up. Sansa comforts her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, choosing chapter names is super hard. LOL bear with me!

Sansa took a look out of the shutters, where a blizzard was starting up in earnest. Through the flurries of snow, she could see a half-moon in the sky. She closed them again, trying not to snap them against the stone.

Daenerys had not woken up yet. Sansa had made it through her first book and was onto another one about the history of the Free Cities when she heard a small moan from the four-poster bed. Sansa hurried over to her friend.

“Sansa?” she asked from the bed, in a small voice. “What happened? What am I doing here?” Daenerys moved her arm, then hissed in pain. Sansa saw her indigo eyes fill with tears. “Why does my arm hurt?”

Sansa sat down next to her friend on the bed. “You were shot with two arrows. One in the shoulder, and one in your side. You’re in Winterfell, in the guest chambers. Do you remember this room from the last time you stayed here?”

Daenerys tried to rise from the bed, biting her lip to stifle a cry of pain. Sansa pushed her down, taking care to touch her non-injured shoulder. “Stay down, your Grace. You’re badly hurt. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Where’s Drogon?” the queen asked shakily.

“He’s in the stables, your Grace. Taken care of.”

Daenerys laid back down properly, but she still looked wary. “Everything hurts,” she said weakly. “How long have I been sleeping?”

Sansa dragged the armchair from next to the fire to the bedside. “You arrived at Winterfell yesterday morning. You’ve been unconscious since then. Look, if you’re in pain, I can give you milk of the poppy - ”

Daenerys’ arm shot out from under the covers to clutch Sansa’s wrist. “No. No, don’t give me any of that. I don’t want to sleep,” she said, going white.

Sansa immediately saw where this tended. “You’re safe, your Grace. You’re in Winterfell, the war is won, and no harm will come to you here.”

Daenerys sobbed. “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I don’t want it.”

Sansa sighed inwardly; showing open annoyance was not a good idea. “I’ll be right here. I won’t leave you. Please, your Grace. You need to rest, and be free of your pain for a little while.”

Daenerys seemed to be turning that over in her mind. “I won’t be alone?” she asked tremulously. “Promise me you’ll stay here. At least until I wake up. And I only want to be asleep for a few hours.”

Sansa decanted some of the milk into a small cup. “Of course. I’ll never leave you, your Grace. Not for anything.” She helped Daenerys drink the white liquid. A little drop of it clung to the Queen’s lip and she licked it away.

“Call me Daenerys,” she said, just before Sansa saw the sedative take her.

Sansa shed her outer clothes, locked the door, and climbed into the bed next to her lover. Daenerys’ warmth leached into Sansa and warmed her up. For once, she felt like she could close her eyes without having to jerk awake in a few hours. The war was over. Her lover was injured, but safe and in her arms.

Her eyes closed, and sleep beckoned its finger. Sansa followed it into the darkness of slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh idk where I want to go with this fic. Idk whether propelling it right into sickfic territory is the way to go.


	3. Alluring Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has a dream. Remembers some things. This is from Dany's POV.

Daenerys Targaryen had done a great many things, but taking milk of the poppy was not one of them.

She’d never had the need of it, and the post-sleep fuzziness and strange poppy dreams gave her a certain wariness around it. However, Sansa Stark had convinced her to take some for the pain. 

_Daenerys floated upon a sea of vague memories and broken thoughts, under a purple-red sky. Snippets of voices and sounds became crystal clear and faded away again, some recent, some she hadn’t heard in many years._

_“Little princess,” said Willem Darry, in a grandfatherly voice._

_“Don’t wake the dragon,” Viserys snarled._

_“Moon of my life,” said Drogo in his gravelly voice._

_“Remember who you are, what you were made to be,” Jorah whispered._

What must I become? _Dany asked silently to no-one._ I don’t know who I am anymore.

_Her question went unanswered. She stayed floating. More memories came forth, unbidden. Her marriage to Drogo. Vaes Dothrak. The House of the Undying. Landfall at Dragonstone._

_Sharing a bed with Sansa. Viserion’s death. Drogon’s jet of fire, cleaving through the horde of wights like a ship through water. The Night King disintegrating into ash. Arrows slamming into her shoulder. Flying through the icy air on Drogon. Falling into the snow at Winterfell._

_A crystal clear memory of Drogo’s funeral pyre materialised in the sky. Dany could feel the warmth of the dragon eggs against her body, and the more chiefly burn of the pyre in front of her. The red comet blazed in the sky. Yells of her khalasar behind her mingled with the screams of Mirri Maaz Duur, the treacherous maegi._

_She started walking towards it, exactly as she had done so many years before._

No, _Dany cried into the emptiness._ I don’t want to see this. 

_The vision disappeared into the ether. Daenerys thought she had the power to will them away, but another memory lined up to take its place._

_The warm guest bedchamber, where Dany vaguely remembered. Sansa’s hair like Dothraki fire. A muffled voice._

What are you trying to say? _she asked._

_“Let’s go to sleep,” Sansa said._

As long as you hold me.

_Grey morning light. Filtering through the shutters. Slowly flurrying snow, floating through the window and melting on the floor._

_Blood. Her own or Sansa’s?_

_This wasn’t how it happened. Was it?_

_“You are always safe in the walls of Winterfell,” Sansa whispered. Daenerys looked for her upon the murky memory sea, but her voice came from everywhere._

_When she looked down, she saw the guest bed, stained with crusted blood._

I don’t feel safe anywhere. How can you make me safe? _Daenerys unwillingly gave a sob._

_“You have my word,” Sansa continued._

_Dany sighed. She supposed that would have to be good enough._

_“You’re hiding something,” Sansa said, not suspiciously. “Talk to me.”_

_Daenerys didn’t know where Sansa’s voice came from. Was she imagining things? Or was her lover speaking from beyond the poppy dream?_

I’m so tired, Sansa. Running and leading and ruling and conquering. I want to rest. I want to forget.

_“Memories create who you are, your Grace,” Sansa’s disembodied voice spoke again. “You don’t want to forget.”_

Maybe I do, _Daenerys said defiantly._ All this strife and heartbreak, and I don’t know how my story is supposed to end.

_“But isn’t that how the best stories go?” Sansa asked, teasingly._

_Sansa’s voice did not speak again. Daenerys called her name into the mist, but no reply came back._

_The memories washed over her like a wave, but they were happy. Dany could not parse the voices yammering just beyond her hearing, but she knew instinctively what they were._

_Viserys inflaming her imagination with stories of Westeros, his arm around her as they lay in his bed. The silver underneath her, and Drogo next to her on his red mare. Feeding her dragons with Irri. The sand of Dragonstone, the dust on the painted table._

_The house with the red door. The only place Daenerys felt truly happy._

_If only someone could take her hand and tell her everything was going to be alright. If only someone could be there for her. If only…_

_The pleasant visions streamed past, too fast for Daenerys to really see them. But it was enough to know they were there._

_She felt a tug downwards, like she was sinking._

_“It’s time to go,” said Sansa._

I don’t want to, _said Daenerys._ I want to stay here. 

_“You can’t spend the rest of eternity wallowing in dreams, your Grace. You have to wake up.”_

Dreams are better than real life. Here I can pretend I haven’t lost everyone and everything I care about.

_“You haven’t lost me. And you never will.”_

I wish you could promise that, _said Daenerys, resisting the pull of wakefulness._

_“I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”_

_She wanted to reply, but she was pulled to the bottom of the sea, into pitch black._

 

Daenerys woke still entangled in poppy-fuelled muzziness. 

“Sansa?” she asked to the empty air. It was meant to be a yell; it came out as a whisper.

A rustle came from very close at hand. “Your Grace?” said Sansa sleepily. 

Daenerys could barely get the next words out; her tongue felt heavy. “You’re still here.”


	4. A Fire's Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys wakes up. A little bit of comfort from Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this chapter is! I just started back at school and I'm super busy all the time.

The moon was still high in the sky, creating slivers of light between the shutters.

Sansa rolled out of the guest bed she had shared with Daenerys and placed a few more logs on the fire. Outside the castle the wind was bitterly cold, but inside the guest chamber it was nearly as hot as the Dothraki sea.

Dany didn’t feel at all well, but she was loath to let Sansa know that. She was still a queen. Queens didn’t show weakness. Even if they couldn’t stop shivering. Even if they felt like they were going to pass out.

The wounds in her shoulder and side were hurting with renewed vigour now that the milk of the poppy was wearing off. Dany shifted a little trying to relieve the pain.

“Are you hungry?” asked Sansa gently. “There’s some oats there if you want them,” she added, pointing to a bowl of preserved grains on the bedside table. Dany remembered eating them on her trek across the Red Wastes. They were dry and abominably tasteless, but mixing them with water made the consistency a little more bearable.

“I’m not hungry,” Dany said weakly. Her insides writhed at how vulnerable she was being. This wasn’t how the Mother of Dragons was supposed to act!

Sansa’s blue-eyed gaze softened a little. “Alright. But at least have some water. You must be very thirsty.”

Dany wasn’t, of course, but she didn’t want to refuse her friend twice. “Just a little.”

Sansa filled a rough-hewn wooden cup from a bucket sitting in the corner. As the cup moved into view, Dany saw a jagged woodcut of the Stark sigil on the side. She wondered who made it.

Sansa held the cup out for her, evidently so Dany could take it. “Can you help me? I can’t lift - ”

“Of course I’ll help,” she said quickly. Dany was thankful that she didn’t have to finish her sentence. Sansa lifted Dany to allow her to drink. The water was slightly tepid from being next to the fire, which warmed her insides somewhat. 

Sansa put her down again. The overwhelming coldness returned. Every breath came with a stab of pain in her side. Dany looked at the fire, burning high with the logs added to it earlier. Maybe if she could get closer to it…

“Can you move me closer to the fire?” She said in a rush before her voice gave out completely.

Sansa felt Dany’s forehead. “You’re burning hot. That might not be a good idea.”

Dany felt tears come to her eyes. “Please. I feel so cold.”

She saw her friend look at her sceptically, clearly struggling over what to do. Sansa sighed. “Alright. But just for a little while.”

Dany knew she would not be able to make that distance. Sansa seemed to know that too. “Let me help you,” she said gently, and Dany could have sobbed.   
Sansa pulled the covers aside and helped Dany sit on the side of the bed. This was a mistake - the room lurched suddenly, and it was all Dany could do to not lose the paltry amount of water she’d just drunk.

“Still want to do this?” Dany heard her friend ask, as if from a thousand leagues away.

“Yes,” she whispered. She’d made it this far. There was no way she was stopping now.

There was a threadbare rug under the bed, faded and fraying at the edges, emblazoned with a design of snow over mountains. When Dany stood up on shaking legs, the loose threads tickled her feet. As she stepped over the edge of the carpet, her feet touched cold, unforgiving stone. A tremor went through her body, including a vision of the Night King on Viserion. When did that happen? A large part of her memory from the last week was gone; a black hole persisted there. She focused, trying to dredge up any recollection at all. The giant empty space in her mind scared her more than the Night King did.

Sansa gently led her to the the fire and set her down on a blanket. The heat chased away the cold some.

“Better?” Sansa asked.

“Yes,” Dany said. She leant against her friend. Dany rested her head on Sansa’s breast and listened to her friend’s heartbeat. She felt more comforted already.

“Are you still in pain?” asked Sansa after about an hour of silence.

“Yes. But it's not that bad,” said Dany, being truthful for once.

The fire burned captivatingly. Dany watched the sparks fly off of the logs and land on the stones in front of the grate.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, as sleep rushed up to take her once again.

“I won’t,” Sansa whispered back.


	5. Changed and Grown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has not woken up yet. Sansa reveals some things by her bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL there are people out here who are super good at tagging and im just over here like :|
> 
> also i'll try and post more often. i know u guys love this fic and wanna see more of it :D

Daenerys did not wake up for a week after that.

In that time, the rest of the Northern army came back to Winterfell. Sansa barely had it in her to do her duty and greet them, but she did. She hugged Jon and Arya so tight Sansa thought she would never let them go again. But she did.

Jon had a huge gash above his eye, and Arya had broken two fingers, and sprained an ankle. Otherwise they were exhausted but jubilant, for their victory and good fortune.  
After the maester was through with them, they retired to their seperate bedchambers to sleep. Sansa knew she would not see them for a few days.

After a celebratory feast, thrown together in haste, Sansa was finally able to go back to Daenerys’ bedside. The knights, true to their word, had kept the door to the Queen’s bedchamber locked down, and nobody had been in or out except the maester.

Once everything was over, Sansa felt exhaustion and longing singing through her veins. Even the snow outside the Great Hall looked as comfortable as a feather bed right then. But she had to go back to Daenerys. Anything else would be betrayal.

When she’d made it to the guest rooms, Sansa shed her heavy cloak and undid her hair from the braid she’d kept it in. Her mother would have called her beautiful, she knew. Sometimes she missed her parents so much it hurt.

The chair Sansa dragged over to the bed made screeching noises on the stones. She sank into it, feeling the weight of all the past few days, months, years come off her shoulders.

As usual, Daenerys was still asleep. The maester said he didn’t know if she’d wake up again.

Sansa took her lover’s hand. It was cold, like she was already dead.

“I can’t stand the thought of you never waking up,” she said to the empty air. She briefly felt foolish for speaking to someone who wouldn’t speak back, but Daenerys was asleep, and the guards wouldn’t hear. There was no risk here.

“The northern army came back,” Sansa whispered. “Half of them are gone. But Jon and Arya and Jorah are all still alive. They survived, they’re all alright.”

 _Except for Daenerys,_ hissed a little voice in Sansa’s head. She forced it out of her mind. She wouldn’t give it voice today.

“When will you come back to me?” she asked. “My siblings are all together again. But Jon and Arya…they’ve changed. Bran, too. They’re not the same as I remember them being.”

Sansa thought about what to say next.

“I suppose I’m not the same either. I’m not that vapid little girl who left Winterfell all those years ago. I’m just Lady Stark, now. Changed, and grown. But we’ll never be the same again.”

Hopelessness washed over her like a cold, grey wave.

“There’s still something missing. Daenerys, there’s still something gone from me, and I don’t know what it is. My brothers and sister are with me now. The Night King is gone, i have my home back. There’s still a part of me longing for something, out there.”

Sansa tried not to cry generally, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“I…just want you awake, Daenerys. I want you here. I’m so lost without you. Ever since you left Winterfell two months ago, I feel like a part of my heart went with you. But now that you’re back, you still haven’t returned to me.”

Sansa laid her head upon the embroidered bedspread and choked back a sob.

“Please, Daenerys. Come back to me.”


	6. An Abrupt Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys wakes up. Sansa attends a feast in her lover's honour. Things are seen and requests are made.

Sansa couldn’t stop stealing glances across the table at Daenerys.

She had woken two days ago, jerking awake in the dark of night, nearly shoving Sansa off the bed and onto the cold hard floor. Sansa held her lover close as she shivered, then called for the maester.

Sansa took her leave while Daenerys woke up properly. She returned to her bedroom and brushed out her hair. In that moment she felt the loss of her mother most keenly. Memories came back to her; when her lady mother would comb her hair till it shone like fire. Sansa spent precious little time with Lady Stark - now that she was gone, Sansa felt like a fool for not appreciating that time more.

When she was done, she leaned against the wall and let the pulsing warmth leach into her. During the winter the water pumping through Winterfell was a blessing. Eventually she felt a little less conflicted.

A knock on the bedroom door broke Sansa out of her reverie. “It’s Arya,” came the voice from outside. “Can I come in?”

Arya. Sansa felt ashamed to say so, but she still had little idea how to act around her little sister. All that time apart, and they were no longer the same people they once were. It didn’t help that they didn’t get on before they were separated.

Sansa knew she had to be nice to her sister, though. She opened the door.

Arya was leaning on a rough-hewn wooden crutch, with one hand obscured in bandages. Her hair was tied back, and Sansa could see her sword dangling from her waist.

“How is the Queen?” Arya asked, without preamble.

Sansa pulled back a chair at the table for her. “Fine. She’s seeing her dragons right now.”

“Her dragons are rather awesome, don’t you think?” Arya smiled that mischievous smile again, and Sansa felt her heart melt a little. In the end, she knew she truly loved her sister - no matter what had happened.

Sansa sat at the table opposite Arya, and returned her smile. “I suppose. I don’t think anyone in the North has seen something like it. For that matter, neither have I.”

“How are you holding up?” Arya asked, changing the subject.

Sansa thought about what to say. She wasn’t going to mention how she’d cried over Daenerys’ bedside. That was something Sansa would take to her grave.

“I’m alright. I’m just getting some rest now. I spent the last week staying by the Queen’s bedside.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the support.”

They said nothing to each other for a while. Sansa watched snow flurries swirl through the shutters and melt on the floor.

“Oh, by the way,” Arya said vaguely. “There’s going to be a feast in a few days. Now that the Queen’s awake, Jon wants to hold a proper celebration. In the Great Hall.”

That was where Sansa was now. As she was the lady of Winterfell, she got to sit at the big table, in the middle. Jon sat on her right, with Daenerys next to him. Arya sat on her left, with Bran on the end of the table. Daenerys talked and laughed with the people who came up to the table to see her. She exchanged a hug with Lord Mormont, shook hands with the Unsullied commander and kissed her scribe on the cheek.

The main course was goose with reconstituted vegetables and grain from the castle storage. Despite its blandness, it was at least warm. Sansa shifted her food around her plate. She considered giving her plate to someone else who wanted it, but it would not look proper for the lady of Winterfell to do that.

Jon and Daenerys were locked in conversation, not speaking to anyone. It was as if the rest of the table didn’t exist. As if Sansa didn’t exist.

She tried not to be too obvious looking at them. It would not do well for the lady of Winterfell to be too engrossed in the Mother of Dragons.

Sansa didn’t even register it until it happened. Daenerys leaned over to Jon and kissed him full on the lips.

Sansa could barely hear the cheers of the tables around her. All she could focus on was her lover kissing someone who was not her. 

“I don’t feel so good,” she heard herself saying to Arya, then she departed the table without looking back.

 _I’m just a stupid little girl who never learns._ Sansa remembered saying that to Margaery Tyrell aeons ago, back in King’s Landing. _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ rang out in her head with every step she took. _I haven’t changed. I’ll never change._

When Sansa came back to herself, she saw that she’d found her way into a tiny antechamber on the castle wall. There were gilded mirrors on one side, and an empty fire on the other. She stalked around, wearing tracks in the dusty rug.

“Sansa? Sansa!” Daenerys’ voice, slowly getting louder. She would not answer. Let the Queen do the work for a change.

A few moments later, the door to the antechamber slammed open. 

“I suppose it was too much to ask that someone actually loved me,” Sansa spat venomously, before Daenerys had a chance to speak.

“Sansa - ”

“What was all that about loving me? Wanting me to stay with you?” Sansa choked back tears. She couldn’t look weak right now. “Did you use me to get to Jon?” _It is only my claim they want._

Daenerys crossed her arms. “Sansa, I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.” 

“It looked very purposeful to me. Next thing I know you’ll be getting married.”

Daenerys’ face said it all. Sansa felt her heart drop. “What? Why are you marrying Jon? He’s a…” Sansa couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“He’s not a bastard, Sansa,” Daenerys snapped, sliding back into Queen mode.

“I know you think he’s not, but - ”

“Sansa, he was never a bastard. He’s the son of your aunt, Lyanna. Your father took him in when she died. He never said anything about it to Jon, or to anyone else.”

Sansa had heard stories of Lyanna Stark, a tragic, beautiful girl who died years before she was born. When she was younger, Sansa had enjoyed looking up at her statue in the crypts, wishing she could be as pretty as her aunt.

Questions flew around in her head like birds in a cage. Sansa tried to focus on one. “Who’s his father, then?”

Daenerys sighed. “My brother.”

 _Viserys?_ Sansa almost blurted that out, but realised it made no sense. “Who?”

“Rhaegar.”

Now the story was coming back to her. Rhaegar Targaryen had carried off her aunt, to Dorne. He died at the Trident and her father was the one to find Sansa’s aunt.

“Sansa, he’s the heir to the Iron Throne. If I marry him, we can rule Westeros.”

Sansa felt a jealous spurt of anger rise up in her. So much for imagining Daenerys could actually love someone. All she wanted was a path to the throne. Sansa regretted staying beside the Queen’s bed all those nights. What was the point of doing that if Daenerys was just going to throw the effort back in her face? There were also the revelations about Jon to think about, but she refused to give room to that for the moment.

Sansa pulled her cloak tighter around her and made to leave. “I’ve heard enough, your Grace.”

Before she could reach the door, Daenerys gripped her arm. “Sansa, wait. Hear me out.”

She stopped and turned around. Daenerys’ indigo eyes were filled with tears. “Yes, I’m marrying Jon, but the marriage…its political, nothing more. Sansa, you’re the only one I’ve loved.”

“How do I know you’re not just using me? Everyone who’s ‘loved' me either hurt me, or manipulated me for their own gain.”

Daenerys looked up into Sansa’s eyes properly. “I’m not using you. I’d never do that. I’ve loved you ever since I came to Winterfell the first time. Nobody has ever cared for me in that way before.” One tear went rolling down her pale cheek. “When I was fighting the Night King, the only thing that kept me going was you,” Daenerys continued, her voice breaking. “Not Jon, or Jorah, or anyone else, but you, Sansa. I would think of you in the darkest moments. I just wanted to come back to you.”

Sansa gathered her lover in her arms, drawing her cloak around the shivering queen. Both of them sunk to the floor together. Sansa could hear her lover’s laboured breathing under the cloak. She felt a horrid stab of guilt. She’d completely forgotten how weak Daenerys still was.

“I’m sorry I acted like a brat,” Sansa said, almost crying herself. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“I shouldn’t have thrown Jon in your face. It was a stupid thing to do. I’m sorry too.”

Sansa held Daenerys even closer, stroking that snow-white hair she treasured so much. The walls of Winterfell were warm even out here.

Sansa decided to break the silence. “So, you’ll be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms then?”

Daenerys shifted. “Once Jon’s ancestry has been proven, they’ll approve our claim. The Lannister woman can be dealt with. At some point.”

Sansa thought about what would happen then. Jon and Daenerys as king and queen. Targaryens on the throne once again. Where would Sansa be? Where would she and her lover be?

“I don’t want to be apart from you again,” Sansa said gently.

“Neither do I.” Daenerys sat up properly and dug into her pocket. “I was going to give this to you after the feast, but maybe you should have it now.” When she removed her hand, it had something sharp and golden in it. When Sansa took it and looked at it properly, she recognised its shape. She had seen it on her father’s tunic, on Tyrion, on Tywin Lannister.

“Sansa, I want you to be my Hand. Helping me rule…there’s no-one else I want doing that.”

“But…you have a council. There are people more capable than I am there. And Jon. And I’m a woman…nobody asks women to be Hands.”

“I want to break the wheel. This is one of the ways to do that. And besides…” Daenerys took Sansa’s hand. “You’ve survived, and thrived. You survived the Lannisters, and King’s Landing. You kept ahead of all your abusers and captors, and got your home back. We share experiences, you and I. Me and Jon both agree you’re the only person for this job.”

“Alright.” Sansa smiled genuinely. “I’ll do it.”

Daenerys laughed, a beautiful sound that chased away the last remnants of sadness in Sansa’s heart. She pulled Sansa towards her, and when their lips met, it was like ice and fire dancing in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go read Like Milk Through Honey! It's the next fic in this series :D


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